


Here's the thing about magic

by StealingPennies



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 11:27:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StealingPennies/pseuds/StealingPennies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monsters, magic, a denial of magic, misunderstandings, major angst and a side order of plot, sex and romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here's the thing about magic

_At one point they thought the roof was falling in but really it was just the end of the world…_

It should have been an easy fight.

“Now there’s a face that only a mother could love!” Arthur curls a lip at the lion-headed creature blocking the cave ahead of them. 

“Faces,” corrects Merlin as the beast turns slightly. He holds his torch higher to reveal a second head. This one seems modelled on a nightmare interpretation of a domestic goat.

The two headed beast stands on four giant paws. To its rear they see a long snake-like tail swishing. It stares at them, holding itself unnaturally still as if undecided whether to strike or run. 

Arthur, who comes alive at moments of danger, throws Merlin a grin. “I don’t think much of yours. Definitely fell off the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down.”

Even though he’s only holding the torch Merlin feels the blood coursing through his own system, there’s something very arousing about watching a fight. About watching Arthur fight. He grins back, “I know you’re not to everyone’s taste but I don’t think you could actually be described as ugly.”

Arthur’s eyes flash in a mixture of amusement and promised amoratory retribution. “Later,” he says. “Let’s deal with this thing first.”

Fleeing being impossible, herded as it is at the rear of the cave, the beast crouches back on its haunches and prepares to strike. 

Arthur tenses and raises his sword in readiness.

Reports of a beast terrorising the outlying villages have been trickling into Camelot for some weeks. When the trickle becomes a full-flowing stream, King Uther judges that it was time for action. A little PR exercise won’t hurt. It can only be good for the further flung reaches of the kingdom to see Camelot’s might in action. Uther and Arthur (and by extension Merlin, although the last conversation between the prince and his manservant takes place late at night, naked in front of the fire and possibly would not meet the king’s approval) decide that a dozen knights will suffice.

“Make a little show of it,” advises Uther to his son. “It won’t do to make it look too easy. We want something that will provide fireside talk for the winter months.”

Arthur nods. He knows the difference between a show fight and the rough and tumble of genuine battle.

Merlin knows the difference too. He and Arthur have left the knights outside having cornered the beast in its cave-lair. A smattering of onlookers follow at a discreet distance ready to report back to their homes. Arthur elects to enter the cave alone. Merlin accompanies him because…well, just because someone has to hold the torch and Merlin has no intention of waiting behind when there’s the faint outside chance of a possibility that he might be needed. 

In truth, the prince’s decision to leave his knights guarding the entrance of the cave is less bravado then an idea protecting the onlookers from possible danger and of not alarming the beast so that he can make a swift, clean kill. Whatever Merlin might think of Arthur’s habit of hunting as a sport – and he thinks plenty and none of it good – he’s never noticed that Arthur takes pleasure in inflicting pain for its own sake. He’ll kill efficiently or not at all. 

About two minutes into the fight Merlin realises they are deep into ‘not at all’ territory. 

From the moment the Arthur and creature exchanged blows the atmosphere changed, darkened, splinter shifted into some overlapping world from which seeps a miasma of malevolence. The semi-comical hybrid they first encountered has transformed into a species of demon – hating and hateful. It’s magic, Merlin knows, but it’s not enchantment of a kind he recognises or knows how to deal with. He can only stand there, watching in horror, as whatever it is threatens to consume them.

Yes, Merlin knows the difference between a show fight and a real battle. The real thing is ugly and messy and graceless. It smells of blood and desperation. There is no guarantee Arthur will win. 

Flames lick and spit at their feet thrown by the _thing_ that is bearing down on them. Small stones rain down, dislodged by the force of the blows hitting the rough hewn walls of the underground cavern.

Arthur spares a brief, charged glance at Merlin and then turns all his attention back on the two-headed monster that blocks their passage. It smells of decay and fear and self-hatred projected onto the puny humans facing it. _Die mortals._

“Get out, Merlin!” 

There’s no air here. For a moment Merlin wonders if he is going to be physically sick. The torch he is holding flickers under the sulphur blast of the creature’s breath.

“No,” he answers. It’s all he can manage and probably all that Arthur can spare the attention to take in. 

The goat head turns one huge unblinking eye towards them and emits a fiery bleat. It should be funny only it’s not. 

Horribly, incongruously, Merlin thinks of his home village and the goats grazing along the road. The goat head bleats again, twice, three times, plaintively. Then the sound is abruptly cut off as Arthur swings his sword and decapitates it. There’s a brief fountain-rush of blood before flesh from the stump slowly begins to reform itself once again taking on the contours of a head. Maddened by the pain and the scent of blood the lion-twin curls back its lips in a savage growl. The snake tail swishes. Arthur’s sword swings again, creating a momentary breeze where no air stirs. This time it is the lion head’s turn to topple and rise.

And so the scene replays itself again. And again.

Blood splashes on the floor curling into the spills of torch oil creating smoky puddles where the flames lick and retreat. The snake tail swishes hitting the rocks to create yet another fault fracture. Already lines dissect the wall. The cavern is beginning to crumble.

Arthur risks another over the shoulder glance holding Merlin’s gaze for the briefest of seconds. In the torchlight his eyes appear huge and black, a slight sheen of sweat covers his skin. He’s spattered head to foot with blood from the beast. “Get out, Merlin. Make sure everybody’s out and seal the entrance.” 

“You’ll need the light.” It feels like he’s shouting but Merlin can only just hear his voice over the other sounds. 

“There’s light enough. I’ll manage.” The last words are spaced out as Arthur slashes his sword defensively. Merlin makes no move. “For fuck’s sake, Merlin! Get out of here. The roof is going to go.” 

“No,” says Merlin.

Arthur makes an indescribable noise. “Master. Servant. Remember that whole deal? It’s an order. I can’t hold this thing much longer.”

Merlin shakes his head although it’s an instinctive gesture as Arthur is unable to see it. “I’m not leaving you.”

_I will never leave you._ He’s already made this vow. And if that means they both die in this place well surely the afterlife contains some sort of version of together. 

Looking at the beast in front of him he knows that Arthur can’t kill it because it is magic. He also – instinctively - knows that magic can’t wholly kill it because it has been born and bred and not created. 

Still staring at Arthur – as if gaze itself will keep the prince safe – he reaches inside himself and tries to find the power. Here’s the thing about magic; it’s not always under your control although when Merlin has really needed, as opposed to simply wanting, it the floodgates have always opened. Now when Merlin doesn’t actually know what to do he simply trusts that the magic will know for him.

He props the torch upright against the wall and goes to stand by Arthur who continues to slash at the beast even while repositioning himself to provide a shield for his servant. Merlin feels the sweat drip down his face. He reaches for Arthur’s arm. The sword stills as a blanket of magic rolls over them both. Arthur’s eyes widen in surprise but he makes no attempt to break away from Merlin’s hold. In front of them the beast rears up on its hind legs for a final attack.

Merlin covers both Arthur’s hands with his own. “Strike now.” He instructs. 

Arthur raises the sword and swings downwards in a faultless arc. Merlin lets his hand follow. The magic flows through him. Through them. The sword turns molten gold and sparks as it strikes through flesh and bone to the heart of the beast. The twin heads droop as the giant paws falter and fall to the ground. The lion head gives a final low rumble as the beast curls up, smoke and fire destroying it from within. The pyre is quickly consumed as the beast is reclaimed by whatever magical powers are responsible for its spawning. 

In a few minutes it is just Merlin and Arthur and an empty cave. The torch has fallen over but – incredibly – is still alight. Merlin bends to retrieve it, raising it above his head to maximise the light. The rock groans as it shifts and settles. 

“We’d better go.” Merlin says to Arthur who has been silently watching the beast burn, his sword, now returned to silver, remains drawn but point down. His voice sounds too loud in the silence. He continues, softer now, fighting down panic with the pretence of normality. “I don’t think the roof is going to collapse but you never know.”

Arthur raises his head and stares at Merlin. He says nothing. He doesn’t need to say anything. His face says it all: why didn’t you tell me? Merlin opens his mouth to say something, anything, and shuts it again as Arthur turns away. It’s quiet now except for the sound of their breathing. 

Merlin risks a hand against the rock face and presses but the surface doesn’t give. The roof at least will hold. Arthur sheaves his sword, spares him a single shuttered glance, and walks past him towards the exit. Merlin follows holding the light which is now beginning to fail.

*

The remainder of their party is waiting for them outside the caves as ordered. Thanks for all the help guys, thinks Merlin, although he can hardly blame the knights for following orders and they wouldn’t have been able to do much anyway. The shocked looks when Arthur and Merlin re-appear reinforce the impression of returning from another world. Uther will more than achieve his wish for fireside talk this winter. Grass scents the air where it has been crushed under heavy boots. A woodpecker sounds against a distant tree. Merlin blinks as his eyes struggle to adjust to the sun’s glare. 

They block off the entrance to the cave with stones from the surrounding outcrops. It’s routine work and done with quiet efficiency. Arthur could organise this in his sleep and from the look on his face he might as well be doing just that. Merlin shifts stones along with the other soldiers and covertly watches the prince. Arthur has washed the blood off his face with water from a canteen but is still otherwise filthy. Something within Merlin clenches painfully. At any other time this scene would end in Arthur’s bedroom with Merlin stripping off the layers of clothing from the prince and slowly washing all the grime off inch by inch. Even now he’s sure if he could just _touch_ Arthur he would somehow be able to explain, make things all right. 

Surely magic is not such a big thing? It’s not as if Merlin lied. He just didn’t tell the truth.

At the castle Uther waits for them at the gates. In the way of gossip, news of their success has reached Camelot before them. He gathers Arthur in a black-gloved hug and spares a nod of approval for the men. Unmindful of the blood and gore liberally besmirching Arthur’s person Uther retains an arm across his son’s shoulders and guides him away into the privacy of the throne room.

 

*  
Merlin slips home quickly to wash and change thankful that Gaius is out on his rounds and not there to question him. Then he heads back to Arthur’s rooms. There’s water to order for washing, and Arthur will need someone to take care of his armour. And then there’s food to consider. And...and Merlin really needs to see Arthur to talk to him.

Hours slip by. The water has cooled and been taken away, along with the soup and bread. Merlin lights the candles and adds more wood to the fire. The candles burn low. The fire is reduced to glowing embers. Merlin wonders if he will wait here all night.

But, no. Some time after the last of the night guards have changed shifts, the waste collectors have retrieved their noisome loads from storage and rolled them away to some unknown disposal point, and the castle has finally quieted, Arthur finally returns.

He looks resigned rather than surprised to see Merlin waiting for him.

“I thought you might need me,” says Merlin, adding quickly and too brightly. “For cleaning and stuff.” 

“You thought wrong.” Arthur doesn’t sound angry, more dismissive. He’s washed and changed somewhere along the line. “I don’t require your services.”

It’s more or less the reaction he’s been expecting but Merlin refuses to be put off. He’d sort of hoped to work up to the whole _magic_ thing by way of a little sock cleaning and soup serving but if such is not to be the direct approach will have to do. He meets Arthur’s eyes. “I need to talk to you.”

The look Arthur turns on him is almost 100 per cent Crown Prince of Camelot. It’s designed to be intimidating and it is. “I don’t want to talk to you. So that decides it.”

“We need to talk,” insists Merlin.

Arthur becomes dangerously still. In contrast Merlin feels the need to move. He covers the ground between them until they are only inches apart and fists his hands to prevent making any kind of pleading motions.

“And if I say no are you going to force me to listen with magic?” Arthur has a huge array of tones and facial expressions at his fingertips, but this is the first time Merlin has heard him speak tonelessly. If it’s deliberate bait it works. 

Merlin’s voice rises in response, “I have never, would never – could never – force you into anything!”

Arthur watches him with cold and painful triumph. “That’s something. At least it means only one of us was lying.” 

The prince does not move but Merlin has the impression that he has withdrawn to a great distance. For a moment they watch each other divided by less then a foot; worlds apart. Arthur breaks first and Merlin has the impression that the words are drawn out unwillingly. “You must have enjoyed laughing at me.”

It’s so far from the truth that Merlin can’t even reply. “No,” he mouths silently. He makes a quick, instinctive move towards Arthur, arms raised to grab on _somewhere_. He’s checked mid-flow.

“If you try and touch me I will break both your arms.” Arthur doesn’t raise his voice. It’s a promise, not a threat. Merlin drops his hands, defeated.

Sometimes Merlin has bad dreams. Dreams where he has never met Arthur, Arthur is dead, or there is some monstrous thing separating them. The first is impossible, the second unthinkable, but he’d always imagined the third to be somehow surmountable. It’s always an unknown big, black void of a something that keeps them apart like a monster or a sorcerer’s spell. Merlin never imagined that the sorcerer would be him. 

“Will you at least listen to me?” If he can just explain. 

Anger would be easy to counter. Passion nearly always leads to passion. Nothingness is a new experience. Arthur simply goes blank. It is, thinks Merlin, as if he has simply ceased to exist. 

“Go home, Merlin. Your services are no longer required.”

 

*  
Gaius greets him at the door with a worried face and a goblet of mulled wine. Merlin sips the wine and huddles under the blanket the physician drops over his shoulders.

“The knights are saying there was some kind of monster?” Gaius makes it a question. 

That’s easy enough to reply to so Merlin describes the monster’s two heads and its snake-like tail as Gaius flips through his ledgers of strange and unusual beasts. They decide it’s a chimaera, which seems to satisfy Gaius. Merlin opts not mention the whole ‘evil going to devour your soul’ miasma that went with it as something too complicated that he doesn’t want to talk about now. Then he regrets the decision as Gaius unthinkingly rubs salt on an open wound. 

“Arthur may like to know what it is he’s killed. Was it all sword-play or did you give a magical helping hand?” asks Gaius with dry mischief. The prince’s passion for hunting is something of a joke between them as are Merlin’s efforts to secretly save his master’s life. 

Merlin says nothing but huddles deeper into his blanket. He shuts his eyes to avoid having to look at Gaius.

“Merlin, is something wrong?” Gaius pushes aside his books and places his hands on Merlin’s shoulders. The touch is light but comforting. Merlin feels his shoulders start to shake.

“I don’t want to have magic anymore,” says Merlin, as to his horror, he starts to cry.

 

Their paths cross early one morning in the castle courtyard. Arthur is on his way to training. His cloak billows out as he walks. 

“It was a chimaera,” says Merlin, knowing the prince will understand.

Arthur’s smile glitters. “Things chimaera and they go.”

 

To use magic at Camelot is to risk your life. For Merlin not to use magic at Camelot proves a lot harder. All the little things that he just _does_ are left undone. The minor trip-fall accidents he prevents. The doll snapped in two by a cart. Oh, OK, so Merlin did prevent that one. But he did it non-magically by the jumping, grabbing and nearly-being-run-over method. The child was grateful. Gaius is not impressed as he cleans and binds the rather impressive cut on Merlin’s shin. 

“I don’t see why you didn’t just..move the doll sideways.”

Merlin allows himself a smile. “You’re telling me to do magic?” 

Gaius pauses in his work. “Yes! Yes, I am. Use your powers to clean that workbench.”  
He nods towards a table on the far side of the room where small spills of herbs mark Gaius’ efforts at putting together a sleeping potion.

“I’d rather do it by hand,” insists Merlin in what he hopes is an offhand voice.

“But I’m asking you to do it magically,” says Gaius, prodding at a stubborn piece of grit that has embedded itself into the cut. 

“No.” Merlin winces. He’s sure Gaius prodded extra hard just then deliberately. 

Gaius finishes his cleaning and decides that air will be more effective than bindings in aiding the healing process. He motions to Merlin that he can stand. Merlin turns to go but is stopped by Gaius’ fingers on his arm. Gaius looks like there’s all kinds of things he’d really like to say but something in Merlin’s expression stops him. He wrinkles his brow a minute obviously considering his words.

“This isn’t going to make a difference, Merlin. It’s not like a penance. Whatever you do now doesn’t change what you did or didn’t do before. All it’s doing is making you miserable. You cannot deny what you are.” 

Merlin slides away from his gaze. They’ve never had a direct conversation about why Merlin has stopped being Arthur’s manservant and recommenced being Gaius’ apprentice. At one level Merlin suspects that Gaius is rather relieved given Uther’s whole anti-magic stance and habit of executing first and asking questions later. Gaius doesn’t really mention Arthur at all but whether through tact or obliviousness Merlin hasn’t known. 

Now he does. Gaius raises an ironic eyebrow. “Maybe it’s for the best. It’s easy to see you’re much happier this way.”

Merlin doesn’t bother replying. He heads to his bedroom where at least he can be miserable in private. Naturally he will not think at all about Arthur.

 

_Here’s a thing that not many people realise about Arthur unless they have come into his personal orbit. Arthur is a brilliant teacher. He’s demanding and insists that his knights display the same kind of commitment as he gives himself but he does ensure they give their best._

_In the first awkward interlude when Merlin was assigned to work with Arthur the prince dedicated himself to training Merlin up._

_“You need to know something about the manly art of self-defence,” is how he actually puts it._

_“Don’t women need to defend themselves?” asks Merlin._

_Arthur considers this as something of an irrelevance. “Of course, although strictly speaking you’re supposed to be doing the defending for them. Still, I’ve worked with Morgana and I know which one of you I’d be backing.”_

_“Go on then,” encourages Merlin._

_Arthur slants an amused glance. “Very well, as I was saying, you need to know something about the person-ly art of self-defence.” He shrugs, “For goodness sake, Merlin, get up. I didn’t hit you that hard and you may need to know how to fight one of these days so you might as well take advantage and get taught properly.”_

_Eventually Merlin can actually handle a stick without poking himself in the eye. He’ll never be an expert fighter but nor will he be cut down in the first minute while still attempting to pull out a knife._

_And while Arthur has laughed at him plenty of times, mainly when picking squished bits of vegetables off him after a stint in the stocks, he has never ever mocked Merlin during a training session. Not even when he’s really, really bad._

 

The basket-maker Sebbi’s house catches fire. It’s wood, like most of the structures in the lower village and the flames quickly take hold. Merlin is one of the first on the scene. He’s not alone but there are few people around. For a moment he hesitates. He could – perhaps – stop the fire without attracting undue notice. Sebbi runs past him, shouting “Water! Water!” He lives alone so the house is obviously empty. Merlin could stop this. But what difference will it make? It’s only a building which can be rebuilt. When he talks to Arthur – and he has to believe that he will talk to Arthur again – he needs to be able to say that he’s given up magic. 

He grabs a bucket and runs towards the well.

 

_There are very few places in the castle they haven’t made out in at some point or other. Merlin has been pushed back against stone walls, kissed behind tapestries, tugged into secret rooms. There’s a kind of heady delight of almost being caught._

_After a particularly awful day after which Arthur has scrapped Merlin off the ground and all but hoisted him up on one of the wooden box horses, Merlin is not looking forward to whatever the next section of training is._

_“Lean back a little,” orders Arthur in a smoky voice that causes Merlin’s eyes to fly open. The prince’s hands are busy at the tie of his breeches. Merlin gives a panicked look around. There is risk taking and there is risk taking. Arthur, he feels, inclines a little too much to the latter._

_“Don’t worry, we’re alone,” says Arthur in a tone calculated to make any sane person worry._

_Merlin makes vague flailing gestures at the wooden box where he perches precariously. He is distracted somewhat by what Arthur is doing with his hands._

_Arthur responds with a look of amazement. “I’m a prince, Merlin, you can hardly expect me to get down on my knees.”_

 

On certain days King Uther holds open sessions where the people of Camelot can express their grievences and receive judgement from their monarch. Sebbi is here to petition for a grant to rebuild his home which has been completely destroyed by the fire. The king listens silently. The story is soon told and Sebbi waits head bowed to hear his fate. Merlin watches from the benches on the side. Uther’s face is impassive. Arthur, by his side, allows sympathy to show for the plight of the man. Inclining his head slightly towards his son Uther obviously asks a question with his eyes for Arthur nods slightly. Uther shakes his head. 

The king sits forward on his carved chair, folds gloved hands on the table in front of him and pronounces judgement.

“Sebbi, of Camelot, you have come here to petition for monies to rebuild your home destroyed by fire. This is refused. We have investigated this event and found it to be the result of a candle placed near bales of dryed grasses. It is only by good fortune and the efforts of your neighbours that a major fire was averted within the lower village. For this carelessness you are fined the sum of 10 silver pieces.”

Sebbi is led away. The next petitioner approaches. 

At the end of the procedures the royal family are the first to leave. Uther goes first followed in order by his son, his ward, and the various officers of the crown who have been attending. Arthur gazes over the crowd, sees Merlin and deliberately looks away. Morgana also sees him and offers a sympathetic smile as she passes.

A few days later, Sebbi’s fine is paid off anonymously. It does not make Merlin feel any less guilty. He didn’t think it could be possible to be this unhappy. Except he is.

 

_Merlin’s not very good at knots so Arthur has to tie his ankles and one of his hands himself. Naturally that leaves the final knot and Merlin suspects Arthur could escape from it if he wanted, after all, he hasn’t been able to force himself to tie it very hard, but the prince doesn’t try. Later, he adds knots and ties to Merlin’s programme of training. They don’t bother the other way around. Arthur can, sometimes does, easily immobilise Merlin with one hand around his wrists. It’s so much a fact that anything extra would be superfluous._

 

Unhappy would not be the first adjective that comes to mind when considering Arthur at this moment. Spoilt. Brattish. Arrogant. These would all rank high on the list but unhappy would be a reach because Arthur has pretty much got a smirk plastered on his face 24/7. 

Always difficult to please, Arthur has reached new levels of demanding. It’s an open secret that the domestic servants now draw straws to see who will be unlucky enough to deal with the prince. 

“It’s not funny,” says Gwen as Gaius laughs and even Merlin manages the flicker of a smile. Arthur can be a brat and he’s not always fair about who he takes his temper out on. Merlin is possibly the only servant Arthur has never managed intimidate. _Was._ Was possibly the only servant. 

Camelot’s soldiery are also feeling the strain. Arthur has doubled training sessions for his knights and insists that ordinary foot soldiers undertake more rigorous training. Naturally he supervises this himself. 

“Morgana thinks its something to do with Uther,” confides Gwen. “The king is really pleased with Arthur. He says he’s developing a kingly attitude.”

“He’s already got plenty of kingly attitude,” says Merlin defensively. Then, wondering if he has protested too hotly adds, “He can certainly be a royal pain in the arse.”

Gwen laughs. “I expect you’re pleased to have got away from him. Morgana says she feels sorry for him because it’s not easy being a prince, but I don’t. I think he’s just arrogant.” She adds, “Or crossed in love.” 

Merlin makes a kind of grunting noise, intended to evidence disinterest, and turns away. He bites a lip to prevent himself showering Gwen with questions. Could Arthur have possibly have found someone else? Did Merlin mean so little to him? 

“What was that, Merlin?” asks Gwen.

Merlin’s still trying to control his features sufficiently to respond, when Gaius saves him the necessity. “All jobs have their downsides, Gwen. It’s not always easy to see the inside from the outside. Being a prince isn’t all velvets and crowns.”

She laughs. “If you say so, Gaius! It’s not as if the likes of us will ever have the chance to find out!”

 

_Cushioned in the darkness with even the curtains of the bed closed Arthur says, “I love you.” And Merlin, lost in the white heart of together where all the edges are blurred and he can’t tell where he stops and Arthur begins says blindly, “I will never leave you.”_

_Of course it’s all a lie._

 

At first glance Matthew Mather is not particularly impressive. White beard, straggling white hair, teeth and nails like old ivory and bloodshot eyes the colour of pebbles, Mather moves in a symphony of dirty whites and creams and carries a long white cane. A self-styled holy man, he travels the countryside routing out demons. At second glance onlookers might allow that Mather has a certain air that distinguishes him. At third glace they would do well to be afraid. It is better not to invite Mather’s attention. He is the coldest man Merlin has ever met. And he has a passion for his work.

As is his custom Uther has invited Mather – for he claims noble lineage - to be a guest at court. And where there are guests, there are entertainments to be prepared. 

Although he no longer works for Arthur, Merlin is still able to attend many of the feasts, either as Gaius’ assistant or in a general working capacity where the castle kitchens have recruited as many additional hands as possible to cater for increased numbers. Merlin would not talk to Arthur even if the opportunity came up. It never does. Under the perpetual smirk Arthur looks tired and driven. He eats little but is always one of the last to leave the table. The prince has stupid taste in friends, Merlin tells himself, watching them laughing and joking. He doesn’t care about the people. Gwen was right about him all along.

After the food has been consumed and cleared Matthew Mather pays for his lodging by telling stories. He describes in loving detail the cases of witchcraft and possession he has encountered in his travels. As he holds forth his thin, pale hands seem to glow with the heat from the fire as they motion to illustrate his tales.

Mather’s voice rises and falls enticing his listeners as skilfully as any trained bard. “She cried, my good lords, how she cried but the prick of the knife would not lie. We cut off the devil’s mark and then tossed the wench into the fire. So her soul was saved even as her body burned.”

Merlin listening wonders if he is going to be sick and backs away from the group. Arthur remains at the high table, hands clasped loosely around a goblet of wine and face downwards. As Merlin stares, the prince’s head lifts and he directs a look of loathing at Mather. Merlin wonders if Mather’s dinner conversation was along the same lines as his after-dinner speeches. Please Arthur, he thinks, do not have sneered at Mather no matter what he might have said. He is not the kind of man to forget a snub.

Uther’s face is inscrutable but then Merlin has never been able to read the king in the way he can his son. 

“Let me tell of the whole family possessed by the spirit of swine,” recounts Mather, as a servant moves to unobtrusively refill his goblet. He takes an appreciative sip. There is silence as his audience waits for him to begin. Mather starts low, barely louder than a whisper, voice rising as he draws them in. “They moved on all fours, squealing and grunting….”

“Merlin!” 

The sound of his name breaks the spell of the story. Gaius is at his elbow, guiding him out. “Come now, Merlin. We’re not needed any longer and I don’t think these stories are healthy.” 

Merlin gives a little shiver. “Gaius! Have you heard him? It’s…it’s unspeakable.”

“Shhh,” says Gaius, looking around to see who might be listening to them. Careful is second-nature after a lifetime at court. “No more now, we’ll talk at home.”

 

*  
By odd coincidence the arrival of Mather sparks a deluge in cases of witchcraft in the villages around Camelot. Each morning Mather sets off with his staff in hand and a raggle-taggle of followers hoping to see the master at work. They are not disappointed. Young. Old. Comely. Diseased. It seems that there is no particular type of person drawn to sorcery but there indeed many practising such evils. After the first few cases are pinpointed by Mather using his holy powers, anonymous tip-offs start to come in and neighbours bring in concerns over neighbours. Reports of burnings and hangings begin to circulate around the castle. Small groups of people gather to whisper in corners. 

Uther knits his brow and paces the corridors of the castle with barely-held in ferocity. Often Arthur is at his side. Sometimes they seem to argue but more often their expressions are in agreement. Something must be done. The people are scared and restless. Sorcery must not be allowed to take hold of Camelot. 

 

*  
Morgana has been having bad dreams. Gaius sends Merlin daily to her chambers with a herbal preparation designed to ease sleep. It does not seem to work so each day the formula is modified somewhat. Morgana laughs and says she feels like a medical experiment but it is clear she is distressed. Dark shadows smudge her eyes. 

Merlin is mixing the herbs with water in the quantities Gaius has prescribed when Arthur strides in following the most cursory of knocks.

“Morgana—“ he begins and stops abruptly when he sees Merlin.

“Arthur.” Morgana greets him civilly but with a hint of annoyance. “What is it? Something important to make you barge in like this, I hope.”

Arthur leans against the table, all arrogant swagger, and infuriating entitlement. After the first shocked look he ignores Merlin. “The king summons you. I imagine you may class that as important.”

Morgana glares at the tone but stands up anyway. Uther is not to be kept waiting. “Why? No don’t bother telling me. I’ll go now.” She sweeps out leaving Merlin and Arthur alone in her chamber.

Merlin puts the herbs down, largely because his hands have started shaking. Is Arthur going to stay? Perhaps they can finally talk.

They don’t talk. 

Arthur makes a single choked sound. Then movement is a blur and Merlin hits the back of the wall. Hard. Arthur’s mouth is crushing down against his, tongue pushing into Merlin’s mouth. It would be force except Merlin’s hands have snaked round Arthur’s back, dropped down to his hips and pulled the prince forward as far as he can and his own tongue is doing more than a little fighting for possession. It’s been so long. He’s so hard, so quickly, it’s almost embarrassing only Arthur is in like state. Arthur seems reluctant to let go of his mouth. Or perhaps it’s Merlin that can’t let go because if nobody says anything this won’t stop. Merlin thinks he might pass out from lack of breath except their kissing is getting messier, less controlled and there’s a lot of sliding. Arthur dips his head and bites at Merlin’s neck. Painful nips. It’s going to mark Merlin thinks with vicious pleasure grinding into the hard flesh meeting his. He’s actually going to come from a few minutes desperate frottage against the wall. He pushes Arthur’s shirt up, digs fingers into warm flesh. Re-maps skin he already knows by heart. 

When it’s over Arthur relaxes his grip and sags against Merlin still holding on to him, but loosely now. Merlin looks beyond the bent blond head to the smooth expanse of bed. They should do this again, but slowly this time, he thinks, and after that it will be time to talk. For a moment he forgets where he is. He runs his hands along Arthur’s arms, past his shoulders, lets them rest behind Arthur’s neck. Arthur raises his head, face flushed, lips swollen, dazed eyes focussed on Merlin’s before their lips catch again for a longer, deeper kiss.

A door opens. Morgana is back.

“Arthur!,” she says, striding into the room, much as Arthur had, but more right since it is hers. And, like the prince earlier, she suddenly stills at the sight before her. Her face flames red. “Arthur, Uther wants you now.” 

Arthur looks up at the sound. Confusion is replaced by embarrassment as he recalls where he is. He steps back face settling into lines of haughty indifference that discourage any approach. “This was a mistake,” he says to Merlin. Ignoring Morgana, he leaves without waiting for a reply.

Merlin is left against the wall, sure that the stones are the only thing keeping him upright. Morgana takes one look at him and tactfully averts her gaze. He’s thankful that at least he’s wearing black. 

“I should go.” He forces himself to stand straight, to regain some semblance of dignity. He pulls at his shirt, trying without much success to make it look tidier. 

“I’m sorry. I would not have come in if I’d known,” Morgana says still facing the window. Shock still faintly laces her voice.

“No. No.” Merlin starts to babble through sheer embarrassment. He licks his lips. They taste of Arthur. He really wants to be anywhere but here. “I need to get back to Gaius. Hopefully the potion will work and you won’t have more nightmares tonight.”

“Merlin,” she says as he tries to exit the room without actually breaking into a run. She turns and beckons him forward. Merlin obeys the summons and then blushes even deeper as she smoothes his hair down and arranges his scarf carefully over his neck. Underneath the fabric he can feel the bite throbbing. Respectability somewhat restored, she lets him go. Merlin once again edges towards the door. 

“Merlin,” Morgana stops him again. Pink tinges her cheekbones in a way that has nothing to do with cosmetics. “One thing.”

“What?” he asks, holding on to the door handle. 

She fingers the ornate necklace around her throat. “Please be careful.” 

 

*  
Matthew Mather sucks at the leg of a chicken. On his plate lie heaps of bones picked clean. Uther too makes a hearty meal. At the foot of the table Morgana toys with a piece of bread. Arthur pushes his spoon around a bowl of some sort of stew. Neither make much effort to actually eat. The first witch has been found within Camelot’s boundaries. The girl, Erin, is a beggar of no known family. She is perhaps nine years old with a twisted foot that means she walks with a limping gait.

Mather has caught her gathering up feathers to use in spells. He taps her hard on her bad foot with the crook of her cane. Erin falls over crying and the feathers lift up and dance around her head. She covers her eyes and screams. Meanwhile a crowd forms chanting, “Die Witch! Die! Die!”

“And so we shall make an example of all witches,” proclaims Uther standing on the stone balcony overlooking the main courtyard. There will be a public execution on the morrow. 

Merlin stands at the edges of the crowd and shivers. He knows that child or not, Uther will show no mercy. 

 

*  
Merlin spends the evening as he spends every evening pretending to read Gaius’ text books. The knock at the door makes them both jump.

“Arthur.” Surprise colours the physician’s tones. Merlin’s heart jumps at the sound of the prince’s name. This is the first time Arthur has called since Merlin left his service. The first time he has seen the prince since that day, now nearly a week ago, in Morgana’s rooms. “Come in. What brings you here?”

Arthur enters but waits until the door closes and Gaius has sat down in his usual place before his workbench before he begins to talk. He’s wearing his leather coat, clearly on watch duty of some sort. He acknowledges Merlin with a brief nod but addresses Gaius. “You and Merlin need to get out of Camelot.” 

“What—“begins Gaius but Arthur cuts him off. “My father is determined that magic will not take hold at Camelot. He has requested Mather’s services in looking for witches. You need to go. At once.”

Somehow Merlin finds himself standing. The bite on his neck throbs. For a moment his eyes meet Arthur’s before the latter’s slip away. It doesn’t matter. Merlin can still look at Arthur and he does staring at the curve of ear, the fine-boned wrists. Holding himself still physically hurts.

“I’ve stopped using magic.” There. Merlin’s said it. At last. It’s not the setting or the audience he would have chosen but fate hasn’t exactly been kind in the stage management.

Arthur’s reaction at least is dramatic enough. He swings around abruptly. “What?”

“I’ve stopped using magic,” repeats Merlin. The ‘for you’ has to go unuttered because there are some things that really can’t be said in front of anyone else.

The prince prides himself on his quick reactions, but apparently Arthur has not prepared himself for this. His mouth opens slightly and his eyes widen before he regains control. Anger, confusion, regret pass briefly across his face. 

“That’s not the point. That was never the point,” he says at last. He continues, obviously picking his words carefully, “It doesn’t matter now. Whether you choose to use magic or not if you have any magic in you Mather will detect it. He is ruthless. You have to go because it’s simply too dangerous for you to stay.”

Gaius watches the two of them, appears to come to a decision, and stands up. “I shall need to make preparations.”

“There’s no time!” says Arthur. He rests one hand on his sword and lays the other palm down on the table, smacking the wood for emphasis. “You go tonight.” Then as an almost afterthought, he adds, “There’s a girl, in the dungeons. I’ll see the guards are removed.”

The prince looks at Gaius who gives a brief nod of understanding. He turns to the door. 

“Goodbye, Merlin,” says Arthur. The two words contain a million shades of meaning. 

“Arthur,” says Merlin. “Sire.”

Arthur raises his brows at the title but stays as requested. For the first time his gaze lingers directly on Merlin. This is so wrong. Just when there is the possibility of putting things right Merlin is going to rip everything apart again. But he has no choice. “Morgana. She has to leave too.”

For a moment Arthur looks as if Merlin has hit him. _Again._ He gives a self-deprecating smile. “Morgana. Of course. I’ll send her to you.”

 

*  
Morgana arrives a little over an hour later, Gwen in tow. She’s clutching a sheaf of papers on her hand and small valise. Gwen has a slightly bigger case but it’s obvious both ladies have packed in hurry and decided to travel light.

“Border passes,” says Morgana seeing the direction of Merlin’s gaze. She hands them over for his inspection. Arthur’s black spiky writing authorises their freedom of movement throughout Camelot and its treaty-protected borders. Almost without thinking Merlin tucks the papers into the fold of his shirt. They’ll be hidden there.

Gaius has packed Merlin’s bag. He hands it over now and gathers Merlin into a hug. “Ride safe. And come back soon.”

“You’re not coming?” asks Merlin, confused. This is all happening too quickly. He really shouldn’t be going. Not now. 

Gaius shakes his head. “Someone should stay. In case things get…difficult.”

“Then you go and I’ll stay,” Merlin says stubbornly. He puts his bag down. 

Gaius picks the bag up and hands it back. He lowers his voice so that only Merlin can hear. “No, Merlin, you’ll never pass Mather’s tests. Gwen and Morgana may need you. And the girl needs to be got away.”

In the end Merlin gives in. Gwen and Morgana could probably manage without him but the child certainly cannot. And Camelot needs its physician.

 

*  
The guards have been drugged in some fashion and it is an easy matter to lift the keys to the cells. 

“Erin,” calls Merlin softly. The child nods but is too frightened to speak. As they help her out of the cell Merlin notes the swelling on the twisted foot and the new bruises on arms and throat. He feels a wave of hatred against the man who did this and promises himself that Mather will pay.

Gaius has two horses ready. Merlin takes one, with Erin in front of him. Gwen and Morgana ride together. It’s not ideal but four mounts would be too noticeable. Beacons have been lit at Camelot’s towers holding back the night. Merlin guides his horse away along the northern road and wonders if he will ever be able to come back home. Or what he will find when he gets back.

The inn is a pleasant two storey building a little under two days ride. Gaius has helped the innkeeper at some time and apparently the help was sufficient that four unexpected guests who must remain for indefinite period are no trouble. 

After the first frightened day, Erin blossoms with the luxury of guaranteed food and shelter. She still needs to be coaxed to speak but she smiles and laughs freely. For the first time in months Merlin finds himself spontaneously using magic to entertain the child juggling half a dozen apples or making pictures from the flames in the fire. She does not respond to magic with magic. Merlin puts this down to the shock of Mather’s treatment. Maybe it will come back with time but he doubts it. He feels no magic in her. If it was ever there it is gone. He does not know if she is to be pitied or envied. Perhaps a little of both.

Erin is afraid of feathers. She hides from the chickens in the farmyard and throws the stuffed pillows on the floor. When Morgana says Matthew Mather’s name she screams and points at her foot.

Days pass. Morgana teaches Erin a simple game using round and flat stones. Gwen sits nearby helping with some of the inn’s mending. She insists she enjoys sewing and has nearly worked her way through the pile of linens turning and hemming so as to get extra wear out of the sheets and pillowcases.

Merlin watches them both and wonders what Morgana has told Gwen about her need to flee the court. Perhaps nothing. After all, Gwen has seen how Morgana has incurred the king’s displeasure by her outspokenness. A public refusal to support Uther might be enough to provoke banishment. Merlin wonders what his own role in their exile is meant to be. Just as he will never ask Morgana straight but knows she has powers, so he knows that she will not ask him but simply accept that he can do things that others cannot. 

In Merlin’s village everyone did a lot of talking. He wonders if it is a reflection of all royal houses or something specifically associated with the Pendragons that all their major conversations are held without words.

 

Morgana has had another nightmare. Merlin doesn’t need to ask, he can see it in the tightness under her eyes, the stiffness of her pose. She says without preamble. “There’s something very wrong happening at Camelot.”

“What have you seen?” Merlin doesn’t bother pretending ignorance. Morgana shrugs, tries to make out it’s nothing when they both know it’s not. “Arthur…” she trails off. 

“And,” he prompts. 

“And, I can’t speak about it.”

Later, she asks, “Merlin, does Arthur have any magic?” 

Merlin shakes his head. “No.”

“Then I think he’s in serious trouble.” 

Merlin frets all day, wishes he knew how to get a message to Gaius. Morgana’s ‘gift’ seems much more of a curse but he knows enough to take it seriously.

Morgana dreams again and wakes up screaming. This time there is no indecision. They are going back to Camelot. And as quickly as possible.

Erin watches them pack with sad eyes. She, at least, is unable to return. The innkeeper and his wife promise to take care of her and Merlin thinks in time she will forget the great walled city and life she has left behind.

As they say their final goodbyes Merlin crouches in front of the child. The bruises have gone now leaving her face unmarked if still too thin from years of semi-starvation. He places his hands on her twisted foot and says a few brief words. When he moves his hands away the foot is straight. Erin stares at him pale but not frightened. Merlin puts his fingers on his lips. 

“Shhh, he says. “It’s our secret. Tomorrow try and fall over and say the foot snapped back. You’ll be believed.”

She hugs him tight. 

“Be happy,” he says. 

 

*  
They ride fast, spurred on by Morgana’s worries, taking the main roads and not looking for secrecy. Merlin has already decided that any obstacles to his return to Camelot he will simply deal with by magic but they meet nothing. The roads are quiet, even those leading directly to the castle itself. It’s an uneasy calm, thinks Merlin, fear prickling at his palms. Riding alongside him, Morgana’s face is set and stern. She looks preoccupied and edgy. 

The gates of Camelot are guarded when they arrive and all visitors asked to report their business. It’s not unprecedented but it does betoken a crisis of some sort. No discussion is needed between Merlin, Morgana and Gwen they simply turn the horses and head for one of the lesser known entrances. For those who live in the villages, it’s easy enough to bypass security. They leave their horses at the stables and head for Gauis’ quarters. 

“Gaius!” calls Merlin, letting them in with a charm and gesture since he has no door key with him. 

“Merlin! Thank God!” Gaius appears at the sound of his name. He looks exhausted, at least a decade older than his already advanced years. He tries to lift an arm in greeting but only manages a few inches before giving up on the gesture. Then he collapses on his bench as if his legs are too heavy to hold him.

“What is it?” Merlin stares at Gaius. It’s obvious that something is very, very wrong.

“Arthur,” says Gaius and stops as Merlin grabs hold of his arm in a painful grip.

“What? Tell me!” insists Merlin. He’s only aware how harsh he must have sounded by the shocked look on Gwen’s face. He loosens his grip with an effort of will but does not drop his hold.

By his side, Morgana goes white. “My dream,” she says, putting her hands over her face. Gwen puts her arms around her mistress but Morgana shakes them off. “It’s not true!” she insists. “It’s not possible.”

“Gaius! Tell me!” says Merlin again. He turns to Morgana who looks away. 

Gaius seems to gather himself. The words fall out in a rush. “Uther is going to execute Arthur for sorcery tomorrow.”

Time stops. Or perhaps it doesn’t. 

“That’s not possible,” Merlin says at last, but he knows that Gaius would not lie.

Gaius repeats himself slowly this time so that there is no possibility of misunderstanding. “Uther going to execute Arthur for sorcery. Tomorrow.” 

“Tell me,” says Merlin for the third time. He speaks quietly now heat replaced by chill.

It’s a simple enough story. Matthew Mather has found more witchcraft cases. Just one or two but enough to unsettle the whole of the kingdom. If Camelot is not safe then nowhere is. Determined to systematically route out the evil of magic Uther decrees that every man, woman and child in the kingdom shall be tested and declared free from possession. Or not. And, to lead by example, the first to undergo testing shall be the king’s son.

Merlin has to sit down at this point. He’s beginning to guess how the story is going unfold and his legs have started to shake. “I don’t understand,” he says. “Arthur doesn’t have magic.”

Gaius glances at him and continues his account by way of reply. “There’s so many to get through that Mather has devised a simple test that will enable the whole of Camelot to be tested within two days. His cane, it seems, can detect the presence of sorcery. If the person be untainted they catch the cane and throw it back.”

“And?” Morgana this time. Merlin is beyond speech. He wishes he were beyond hearing. If he does not have to listen it may not be true. They should have come back earlier. He should have trusted the truth of Morgana’s dreams. Using magic has been bad. Not using it is proving worse. 

“Mather threw the cane at Arthur. Arthur caught it one handed like he does. He was laughing. But when he came to throw it back the staff came alive swirling and hissing in the form of a snake wrapping itself around his wrist like a familiar. Mather spoke some powerful prayers and after a few minutes the snake stiffened and dropped returning to the form of a staff but the damage was done. The people had all seen. Uther condemned his son on the spot.”

Merlin feels as his heart has stopped beating. He forces the words out, needing to know. “What did Arthur say.”

There’s pity in Gaius’ face and a little admiration. “He said ‘I submit to your judgement, Sire.’” 

“And Uther let him?” Behind him Merlin can hear small cries as Gwen and Morgana take in Gaius’ tale but he is wholly focussed on Gaius.

The pity in Gaius’ face is now for Merlin as he tries to explain. “Merlin, he had no choice.”

Something hardens within Merlin. Arthur might submit but Merlin never will. He hears his voice speaking coldly, clearly. “What time did Uther set?” 

Gaius moves a hand towards Merlin and checks the gesture as Merlin recoils but he is unable to stop the emotion showing in his voice and face. “Dawn. I’m sorry, Merlin.”

Merlin turns on him. “Don’t be. It’s not going to happen.”

 

*  
The dungeons are free from guards. When they get to the cells it is easy to see why. Arthur is not here. For a moment Merlin looks at Morgana in near panic. Where could he be? 

“The Royal Cambers,” she says, after a minute’s thought. “They all lock. Uther could post guards outside and still allow Arthur to ...” she trails off a moment. “To spend his last night in reasonable comfort.” 

Merlin does not reply. His mind simply refuses to dwell on this fact. 

Morgana strolls to her quarters as if she has never been away with Merlin and Gwen trailing her like the servants they are. They meet the odd person who Morgana simply stares down. No one but the king dares question his ward. Arthur’s rooms are a short way from the Morgana’s. There are no guards posted outside. Merlin’s heart sinks. If not here, where could Arthur be?

He tries the door anyway. It is not locked. Neither is the room empty. Arthur and Uther stand by the window watching as the carpenters construct the execution stand. They are building higher than usual to ensure the crowds get a good view. People have already started gathering. Prince and king turn to stare as the door opens. 

“What is this?” asks Uther. “I gave orders that none were to disturb us.” He speaks normally, only the lines on his face and the tightness of the grip of his hands on the chair back betray stress.

Arthur smiles his incredible smile. He is genuinely amused. “I think it may be a rescue attempt.”

“Your friends are loyal,” says Uther looking beyond Merlin to Gwen and Morgana. 

“Misguided,” corrects Arthur. 

“Come in, Morgana.” The king gestures her forward. Events have moved beyond anger at her unexplained absence. “We need to talk about your future role.”

As if freed by a signal, Arthur moves to the door effectively exchanging places with Morgana. Gwen retreats to a discreet distance along the corridor. For a moment Merlin and Arthur look at each other. Merlin is afraid to speak in case his voice cracks. 

“Arthur,” he manages at last and with only a slight hitch. 

“Merlin,” says Arthur. “I can’t say I’m surprised given your past history in successfully carrying out orders.”

It’s a good attempt at nonchalance. Merlin tries to catch the mood and fails. This is too important to waste time. “Come away,” he begs. “You’re not a sorcerer.”

“I can’t,” says Arthur. “The test was carried out in public so the punishment must be seen likewise.” He wrinkles his face in thought. “It’s strange, I would have thought I would have known I was possessed. Did you know?”

And now, inappropriately it’s Merlin who wants to laugh. Of all the times for Arthur to be dense. Or honourable. Or whatever. 

“Arthur,” says Merlin furiously, fighting back the impulse to thump his master. “Trust me, you’re not possessed or full of magic or full of anything that is not totally you.” 

“Would you know?” Arthur sounds genuinely curious. “Maybe I’ve been enchanted since you left.”

“Yes, I would know. And no, you have not.” says Merlin definitely, although he’s not sure. There’s something about Arthur, always has been, but whatever it is it has nothing to do with sorcery. He hears his voice entreating, “Please don’t die for a lie.”

Arthur takes his hand, running his index finger up and down each of Merlin’s fingers in turn before lacing their fingers together. “Not for a lie. For Camelot. The test was carried out in public. I have to abide by the same rules as any of my father’s subjects. There can be no other choice.”

Everything that Merlin ever thinks is reflected in his face. It is now. Arthur gives him that look of ‘you’ll never understand it but just accept’ and he has to look away because he doesn’t understand and he can’t accept and that’s no help here and now. 

“You should go now,” says Arthur. “After, promise me you’ll go somewhere safe. Get Morgana out too, if you can, although if she is heir that may not be possible. Perhaps keep an eye on my father because this is difficult for him.”

Saying no is impossible. But so is yes, so Merlin merely nods not wanting to destroy Arthur’s faith in him. He clutches Arthur’s hands in his knowing that’s the only contact they’ll get. 

“Arthur.” Uther’s voice clearly signals that this interview must be over. 

“Oh, one last thing,” says Arthur reaching for the pennant at his neck. “This is for you. I imagine you’d rather have it now.” As Merlin makes no move to take it he drops it over his servant’s head himself arranging it so it hangs centrally over the open neck of his shirt. The stone hits Merlin’s skin still warm from where it has rested against Arthur’s chest.

“Suits you,” he says regarding his efforts. 

“Not as much as it suits you,” replies Merlin.

“Naturally not,” agrees Arthur with an attempt at a smile. “But since that’s not going to be an option you’ll wear it well.” 

“Morgana,” Uther addresses his ward, as she and Arthur once more trade places, door for window. “You will be expected to attend.”

Morgana says nothing. She embraces Arthur briefly as they pass. Outside the carpenter’s hammers continue to strike nails against wood as they hurry to finish their task before dark.

*  
Light comes in roses and yellows lighting up the cream stones of the castle casting a glow of beauty on a scene of misery. The castle is unnaturally still. The coloured flags have been replaced in their turrets by black banners.

Executions always draw a crowd. For the execution of the crown prince the onlookers started gathering early to ensure a prime position. Merlin spares a thankful thought that Morgana insisted on accompanying him. She is able to open a path for them through the crowds up to the area reserved for the noble guests. This too is packed. Merlin scrunches in a corner surveying the executioners block and realises he has no idea what to do. 

Uther and Arthur arrive together dressed in armour overlaid by cloth tabards bearing the Pendragon crest. It might be any other royal occasion except that only one of them will be leaving and the prince’s hands are bound in front of him. Instead of the royal balcony Uther leads his son to the lower platform where the masked executioner waits. By his side Matthew Mather waits cane in hand. His eyes feast greedily on the scene.

Prince and king stand facing each other then, at nod from Uther, turning forward to face the assembled crowds. 

The executioner bows to the king and makes to put one hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

“You shall not touch him,” says Uther in a voice that carries across the courtyard. “My son submits to the judgment of Camelot yet he is still its prince and kneels to no man but the king.”

“Sire,” says Arthur, and half smiles at his father who responds by kissing him on either cheek. Arthur kneels. He’s not as graceful as usual due to the bound hands but Uther’s hand on his shoulder balances him somewhat. Merlin stares in surprise. For the first time since he has known him Uther’s hands are bare. The fingers on Arthur’s cheek touch flesh to flesh. Arthur gazes up proudly. He looks every inch a prince. Father and son hold each others’ gaze. Once again, they might be alone at some private meeting.

Merlin thinks his heart might break.

The executioner approaches Uther. It’s an unprecedented occasion and it’s unclear as to what to do next. He gestures with his axe. Uther replies without taking his eyes off his son. “I will carry out sentence myself.”

There is a collective ‘Ahhh’ across the crowd. Uther draws his sword. Arthur raises his chin exposing his neck.

Merlin pulls the tower down. 

Stones, glass, metal rain down on the platform. Screams echo around the courtyard. The front of the structure gets off lightly. Uther jumps in front of his son who’s somewhat hampered by his position on his knees with bound hands. 

As the dust settles a single scream continues, pitched sharp with pain. Mather has been skewered with a glass shard. He tries to flex his hands but the pain has broken the hold he has on his familiar. The ivory staff is once again a snake curling and hissing around the pinned form. 

A few feet away, Uther helps Arthur to his feet. He unbinds the prince’s hands, gently chaffing life back into them. They have a short intense conversation. Uther comes to the front of the platform to address his people. He holds his hands up for silence and the courtyard quietens. Behind him Mather’s moans and sobs continue unabated. Uther’s voice rings out. There’s no mercy in it. “People of Camelot. We see today how the evils of magic can seek to undermine the very foundations of our kingdom. This man – he indicates Mather – did seek to kill your prince, our future. My son.” Here, for the first time, Uther’s voice falters slightly. He quickly recovers. “Those of you with family who suffered at his hands, let his death be retribution for your families. No slow death but a drawn out agony of mind and body.”

Merlin shudders. He sees Arthur’s face. It’s not a choice Arthur would make but Merlin knows Arthur will support his father. Even unto death. 

 

*  
Merlin waits until late before entering Arthur’s room. He knocks and when there is no answer opens the door anyway. The same as always.

Arthur is sitting at the table. There’s a small cut across his cheekbone caused by falling debri. He looks tired, but that is hardly surprising. 

“I thought you might like this back,” says Merlin, pulling the stone pennant off over his head and dangling it in his fingers.

“It was a gift,” says Arthur.

“I’m gifting it back.”

“It looks better on me anyway,” says Arthur with almost believable arrogance which he can’t quite manage to maintain for the next question. “Did you pull the tower down?

“Yes,” says Merlin. 

“Crude but effective. Did you know what would happen or were you just covering the options in case my father bottled out?”

“How can you even joke about it? Your father would have killed you.”

Arthur looks shocked at the strength of his response. He drops the pretence of being carefree. “He had no choice. It was his duty. You have to understand that. I would willingly die for Camelot.”

“I do understand,” says Merlin, who doesn’t but knows that this is something essential to Arthur and not to be compromised. Unthinkingly Merlin’s raises his hand to his neck where the mark Arthur placed on him still faintly shows. Arthur catches the gesture. He continues carefully. “Do you? One day you may have to make the choice not to save me.” 

Merlin nods and hopes that when the time comes he’ll be able to tell the difference and act accordingly.

“Come in then,” says Arthur. “Lock the door if you’re staying.”

Pendragons have all their major conversations without words. Merlin supposes he’s catching on since he does as he’s bid. Arthur doesn’t move. He seems to give way all of a sudden folding his arms and resting his head against the wooden table. Merlin perches on the table top since that’s easiest. Since Arthur doesn’t seem inclined to talk Merlin contents himself with resting a hand on the back of Arthur’s neck rubbing his thumb lightly over the skin. Eventually the tautness eases and Arthur leans a little resting his head on Merlin’s thigh. It’s a start, thinks Merlin, moving his fingers lightly through the prince’s hair. They’ve got time to work on the rest. 

 

* * *  
Thanks to Luthien and Lalala for beta work.


End file.
